King--of the Khyber Rifles: A Romance of AdventureMundy, Talbot
History
King--of the Khyber Rifles: A Romance of Adventure
Mundy, Talbot
British -- India -- Fiction; Historical fiction; India -- History -- Sepoy Rebellion, 1857-1858 -- Fiction; Love stories; War stories
King moved in his sleep, rather noisily, and the movement knocked a book
to the floor from the foot of his berth. The noise of that awoke Hyde,
and King pretended to begin to wake, yawning and rolling on his back
(that being much the safest position an unarmed man can take and much
the most awkward for his enemy).
“Thieves!” Hyde yelled at the top of his lungs, groping wildly for his
pistol and not finding it.
King sat up and rubbed his eyes. The native drew the knife,
and--believing himself in command of the situation--hesitated for one
priceless second. He saw his error and darted for the door too late.
With a movement unbelievably swift King was there ahead of him; and with
another movement not so swift, but much more disconcerting, he threw his
sheet as the retiarius used to throw a net in ancient Rome. It wrapped
round the native's head and arms, and the two went together to the floor
in a twisted stranglehold.
In another half-minute the native was groaning, for King had his
knife-wrist in two hands and was bending it backward while he pressed
the man's stomach with his knees.
“Get his loot!” he panted between efforts.
The knife fell to the floor, and the thief made a gallant effort
to recover it, but King was too strong for him. He seized the knife
himself, slipped it in his own bosom and resumed his hold before the
native guessed what he was after. Then he kept a tight grip while
Hyde knelt to grope for his missing property. The major found both the
thief's bags, and held them up.
“I expect that's all,” said King, loosening his grip very gradually.
The native noticed--as Hyde did not--that King had begun to seem almost
absent-minded; the thief lay quite still, looking up, trying to divine
his next intention. Suddenly the brakes went on, but King's grip did not
tighten. The train began to scream itself to a standstill at a wayside
station, and King (the absent-minded)--very nearly grinned.
“If I weren't in such an infernal hurry to reach Bombay--” Hyde
grumbled; and King nearly laughed aloud then, for the thief knew
English, and was listening with all his ears, “--may I be damned if I
wouldn't get off at this station and wait to see that scoundrel brought
to justice!”
The train jerked itself to a standstill, and a man with a lantern began
to chant the station's name.
“Damn it!--I'm going to Bombay to act censor. I can't wait--they want me
there.”
The instant the train's motion altogether ceased the heat shut in on
them as if the lid of Tophet had been slammed. The prickly heat burst
out all over Hyde's skin and King's too.
“Almighty God!” gasped Hyde, beginning to fan himself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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